Never Trust
by Not-A-Somebody
Summary: She was suspicious of strangers, the last year had taught her to be that if nothing else. She knew this man could pull a knife on her at any moment, and she would be helpless to do anything.


There was someone with her when she awoke. She did not know who it was, but he looked troubled. He was not aware of her eyes upon him. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to be. After all, who was he? Was he one of them?

She noticed her surroundings had changed; it was no longer dreary, dark, and damp, but everything was white. What was this strange place where there was no color?  She shifted her head to look around at the white room, and caught the attention of the man next to her. 

When he pulled his head of his hands and looked at her, she knew there was no way he could be one of them. Another prisoner, perhaps? His face was soft, his eyes blue-gray in tone. There was a bandage on his forehead, a bruise around his left eye. 

Oh. Was this what they called a hospital? Why was she in a hospital? 

"You're awake," the man vocalized, his voice in raspy contrast to his features. 

She looked at him. Nodded slowly. She was suspicious of strangers, the last year had taught her to be that if nothing else. She knew this man could pull a knife on her at any moment, and she would be helpless to do anything. He reassured her with the words, "Don't be afraid; I won't harm you," but she knew she could not trust him. She saw the darkness in his soul. It was there, shining with an obscure light, but shining nonetheless. 

He reached out to touch her hand; she jerked back. Who was this evil man that he thought he had the right to touch her hand, reassure her? She was positive he was evil now; she could see it in his eyes, face, that damn bruise on his eye. She needed to get away from him. 

She would have to do this quickly. He would surely lunge at her if she made a move to run. A part of her wanted to stay in this warm bed, but she ignored it. Now was no time to be concerned with comfort. 

In order to get away from him, she would have to rip off the sheets, jump out of the bed, and run as fast as she could. She just prayed she would be able to stand on her legs. If she _was_ in a hospital, there had to be some reason. 

"It's okay, I promise I won't hurt you," soothed the malicious man at her bedside. 

The same part of her that liked the warm bed wanted to trust this man, but she couldn't. She knew not even his name. Names were worth a thousand adjectives, your name reflected your person. She was Orin Sylmar, the flame in the dark night. This man, she was sure, had a name like one of the others. Gretten, Judges… Malfoy. The worst one of them, he was. 

Now was the time for action. The door was to the left, behind the man. 

With reflexes faster than the blink of the man's eye, she whipped off the blankets and did not jump, but sprang out of the bed on to the cold tile floor. Her weak muscles protested the effort, but held. 

The man was up, darting towards her as she suspected, but he was old, slow. She darted past him, ran pell-mell towards the door, knocking into beds and tables and other things, not caring, not stopping. 

Oh, Lord. He was coming after her. She ran faster, reached the door, yanked it open and fled down a hallway to the right. Thankfully she still had her normal clothes. 

The halls were crowded, many people—she could not make out their faces she was moving so fast—turned towards her as she ran. Glory filled her. This was what she loved. Running, almost faster than the human eye. It was wonderful. 

She dodged and ran, ignoring the shouts of, "Hey, you!", "Watch it!" and "Wait! Stop!", the last coming from that evil man. 

Someone grabbed the sleeve of her shirt, yanked her almost off her feet. What was this? No one should have been able to catch her when she was running that fast. She looked up and saw one of them. Tall with sallow skin and black eyes, she was sure it was the same man. Letting out a shriek, she tackled him. She would not be in their grasp any longer. A change had been brought with her when she had woken this morning. 

He fell to the floor, alarmed.

She looked around; she was in an empty corridor, besides the man on the floor. She turned, was prepared to run again, but she was blocked by another person. It was _the man._ And coming from the side of her, an elderly woman. 

She was trapped. The man who had fallen had gotten up from the floor and reached to grab her again. 

"Severus, no," said the woman. She was tall, wearing green with a black pointed hat. The woman turned to her, speaking these false words, "It's all right, we're not going to harm you, you're safe now." Continuing in this absurd speech, which Orin _knew_ was false, they all started closing in on her, pushing her back into in the corner. 

She held her head with her heads, shaking it, trying to block everything out. Involuntarily, she let out a whimper. "No, no." 

"It's okay," said _the _man. "No one is going to harm you."

"NO!" she screamed, breaking inside. "No, no, no, no, no…"

They stopped, uncertain. 

She seized her only opportunity and fled, running, running, running…

She slammed into something. It wrapped its arms around her. No. It was him…Him. She cried out, struggling. He didn't waver. Oh, this was bad. 

"Stop, child," said he. "Calm yourself." 

She stopped. That was not his voice. She tried to look up at the person who held her, but he did not loosen his grip on her shoulders. 

"Do not be afraid. We will not harm you. Look around yourself." He released her. 

She looked up, finding herself face to face with an old man, very old. Gray hair down to his waist and blue eyes that had not a hint of evil in them, his face lined with age. 

"Look," he said, gesturing with his arm. 

She turned and did so, gasping. There was no stone walls, damp with darkness, malevolence. There were no candles lit with black flame, or skeletons of victims that hung on the walls. Her eyes widened in wonder. What was this strange placed, with the polished wooden floor, dark walls and bright colorful chandeliers? Where _was_ she? Was this heaven what looked like? Was she _dead_?

"Come with me, and I shall explain everything," said the man.

She hesitated. The knife would be coming any second. 

"I am Albus Dumbledore and you have my word as a wizard and headmaster of this institution that I will not harm you." 

Institution? Had she gone _insane?_ She certainly felt insane. This new bravery against them had not been there the last time she was awake. She was scared still, of course, but no longer would she succumb to them or their will. 

Yet, here she was, going against her instincts and trusting this man. This man whom she had never met before and who gave her nothing but his word (which she had learned could not be trusted among wizards) that he wouldn't harm her. What was she thinking? She was breaking all her rules, just because some old geezer had told her to "Look", She _was _insane. 

Every inch of her wanted to run again, but she remained inertial. She simply stared at Albus Dumbledore, the man with the twinkling eyes, unaware of what to do. If she trusted him, there would be a knife (she _knew_ it), but if Orin ran, would she be making the biggest mistake of her life? These people were offering her safety from them, and comfort beyond which Orin was sure she had never imagined (for a teenage girl, she was somewhat lacking in imagination). 

Albus Dumbledore held his hand to her. Her eyes followed it wherever it might move. 

Should she take it? 

Orin Sylmar looked Albus Dumbledore straight in the face. He was staring at her with curiosity and something else. She couldn't tell what. 

For the first time, Orin spoke. "I will come with you, Albus Dumbledore."

He seemed to understand the implied "I do not trust you."

"Very well," said Albus Dumbledore. "I cannot blame you for being untrusting, but listen to me when I say this: You cannot live life without trusting anyone. Eventually, you will have to learn to trust, even blindly. I know to you, after what you have seen, this sounds quite mad, but remember my words. Follow me, and I will explain all." 

By now the old woman, the evil man, and he who was one of them had now caught up to she and Albus Dumbledore. They were winded, and looked taken aback. 

"These," said Albus Dumbledore, "are some of my colleagues. This"—he gestured towards the woman—"this Professor McGonagall, and"—the evil man—"Remus Lupin, and Professor Snape. From the looks of it, you gave them quite a difficult time." And at this point, Albus Dumbledore turned to her and said, "There is no one here that you cannot trust with your life."

She surveyed the evil man and the male professor, and was not fooled for a minute. These men had darkness lurking inside of them, in their very souls, and, therefore, could not be trusted. They were knife-holders, of that she was sure. 

Albus Dumbledore started to put his arm around her shoulders, but Orin was too quick for him and ducked out of it. The old man nodded and beckoned her to follow him. "Good day," he said to the three out-of-breath adults, looking at the headmaster, thunderstruck.

o*_*o

At the other end of the castle, three students were waiting for their Potions Master to return, talking animatedly to each other about recent events. They were two boys and a girl, who was looking slightly put-off for some reason.

"And she just went flying right past, I didn't even get a good look at right, but she'd make one hell of a Quidditch player with speed like that," said a red-headed boy by the name of Ronald Weasley. 

"Are you positive it was her?" inquired Harry Potter, a green-eyed, black-haired seventh year.

"Believe me, Harry," said the girl, a one Hermione Granger. "I've never seen anyone run that fast. It had to be her. She left Remus in the dust, and he's faster than any of us."

"Where's Snape?" asked Ron. "I mean not that I care if the bloody git doesn't show up for class, but he's never late." 

"It's probably got something to do with her." Everyone knew what she meant by her. "I can't believe she's finally awake. Can you, Harry? … Harry? _Harry!"_

"Huh? What?"

"I said," repeated the girl hotly, "Can you believe she's actually awake?" 

Harry contemplated this. "Well, yeah. I always knew she was going to awake up. I thought she would be out longer than that though." 

"She was out for nearly two months!" exclaimed Ron in a whisper, as not to attract the attention of their classmates.

"She was also caught in the worst explosion in Wizarding history and thrown into a stone wall, and she was weak before that, too," replied Harry matter-of-factly. He had been at the scene first hand and couldn't help but brag a bit. "That would be enough to take anyone out for a while." 

"But you were caught in that explosion too, Harry. And you weren't out for more than a week," stated Hermione. 

Harry shuddered. "Who knows how long she was there before that, though. Could have been weeks, months, anything. Her strength was really worn down when I found her. I don't want to think what they had been doing with her at that… place." He didn't honestly know what to call it. 

"If you three are done chatting," said nasty voice at the front of the class. Professor Snape had returned. "I will begin to teach my class." 

…And so begun another day, another Potions class in the hands of Professor Severus Snape, liked by few, hated by oh-so-many. 


End file.
